Muse of Dawn: Generation
by NessieWinsa
Summary: If there's something you need to know about the gods, is that they find a way. If they don't forget, they bend and push and shove until there's a crack to squeeze through an oath. This 18 veteran dude named Percy said never to trust them, even Mom...


**Muse of Dawn**

**Generation**

Claimed by a Sad Emoticon

* * *

**Y**ou know what I hate the most?

When people stare at you. I mean, what is their problem? Can't they mind their own business? Did I grow a second head? Hope not…

They have this quizzical look, like their eyebrows are screaming, _what's wrong with you? Why hasn't anything happened yet?_

I knew I didn't belong, but how I didn't belong, I don't know. Percy, this eighteen warrior veteran dude told me something was wrong, that not being claimed after thirteen was a broken oath. He said the gods have forgotten their promise, and he was going with Chiron to figure out what was going on.

It was the second month after my birthday, I let the marshmallow on the end of my stick burn in the fire, not caring to blow it out. I let it deform into a brown, mesh and bubble, until the last of the ashes blew off.

I heard someone sit beside me and I glanced over my shoulder.

"Cold?" A girl about the age of nine in a brown cloak stared intently at the eternal flames, poking an iron pole at the logs.

"Nah," I scoffed. "I'm fine."

"I wasn't talking about your body temperature, young demi-god."

I gave her a smile. "What else could you mean?"

"I can feel the flame of your spirit is dying." She said, then looked up at me. "Are you giving up so easily?"

Her eyes burned fiercely, like a blazing hearth. It took me seconds to realize her eyes really were burning; warm and cozy fires nestled in her eyelids. I blinked back tears. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

She smiled a little, like someone had said the same a long time ago. "Do not give up hope, your mother has not forgotten you, she simply was never put to the oath."

"My mother?" I said, shock evident in my words. "What do you know about my mother?"

"A little," that didn't help. "She spends most of her days on Olympus, singing, so I do not know a great deal. Let us just say, you are her first demi-god child ever to be born, and she does not know how to treat you." Her words stung, I turned back to the fire, as if the warmth would take away my misery.

"If you know so much about my mother," I tried not to croak, but unsuccessfully achieving so. "Why hasn't she at least tried to contact me… or dad? Percy said he had all the gods and minor gods take an oath, but she broke it." I wanted to avoid the truth, but I knew I had to admit it. Somehow, telling this stranger my feelings in a soft firelight, it felt right. But it also felt out of place, like I should be telling this to my mother. "She thinks I'm a mistake, doesn't she?"

The girl smiled. "I do not know much about your mother, as I said before, but she and her sisters have had great misfortune since their last demi-god child was born. Your mother broke nothing, for she was never called upon. Every immortal knows her and her sisters by another name, not as a god. Millennia ago, they were known as minor gods, but no longer, because they were replaced by another name. Percy, your mortal hero, did not say they had to agree with the oath, therefore, they were free."

The girl rose, and I found myself clinging to her robe. "Please," I pressed my lips into a thin line. "Where are you going?" She smiled, and I felt a calming sensation inside of me.

"I'm usually alone, either tending the flames on Olympus or here, but the hearth is best for depression, remorse and guilt. Need you find me, remember the hearth." Then she faded in the cinders and sparks, disappearing into air.

"You met Hestia," I heard a voice behind me. "She's probably the best person to be comforted by, except she's a maiden goddess. Don't even think about the possibility of her being your mom."

I snarled. "At least you _have _a mother."

Adam leaped in the now-empty seat beside me. He had that dumb stick attached to his belt, as he gave me a mischievous smile. Being the son of Hebe, he did a lot of spell casting and stuff. If I hadn't known better, I would say he was the son of Hermes. All of his magic never did anything good for the camp but cause explosions and strange monster appearances. All he had to do was wave the stick around and curse someone to make sure they wished they could meet Hades the easy way. Just looking at his 'wand' urged me to take it and snap it in half on my knee. My fingers drummed eagerly on the bark of the bench as the image of a pale Adam popped up in my mind.

"What are ya smirking about?" Adam frowned.

I glared. "Thinking of the twenty-second way to kill you..."

"You've thought of twenty one ways to kill me?" He made it sound like it was a compliment.

"Yes," I rolled my eyes. "But of course, the traditional stabbing of a sword works just as good as the others. Much easier and less bloody."

He snapped, "Old hag."

"Twit," I retorted.

"Retard."

"Cow!"

He smiled. "I _like_ beef, thank you very much."

I resisted trying to pound his face into potato salad.

Soon, the Apollo kids stopped their singing towards the main fire and announcements were made as signs flashed over the new campers' heads. Apollo, Hermes, Athena, Apollo, Apollo, Ares, Aphrodite, Apollo, and Zeus. Nothing out of the ordinary. I laced my fingers together and prayed silently that my mother would claim me. _Please_, I thought. _Oh, please, please, _please _claim me, mother. Just a sign. Send me one tiny, little sign, and that's all I need. Just don't leave me alone anymore._

I opened a squeezed eye after a few minutes, then opened my other. Finally, I relaxed my tight body and sagged my shoulders. It wouldn't happen today either. Or tomorrow, nor the next. I already knew. I was about to get up when I looked at Adam, wide eyed at me.

I touched my neck, wondering if I really had grown a second head. "What?" I asked.

He mouthed, _look up_.

I furrowed my eyes. If this was some kind of joke…

I stared up. Disbelief struck my face.

I was claimed. I was _claimed_.

I mentally slapped myself for not being more excited. I was finally claimed by…

A sad face.

"Uh…" I stammered. A gray mask appeared over my head, a frown so sad and large with wide, tearful eyes, I almost started crying myself. The face looked so real, as if someone had cut off a screaming woman's head in battle. I backed away, only to trip over the bench behind me and land on my back with a loud _thud_. I scrambled back up, dusted myself and smiled awkwardly. What did the sign mean?

I saw Chiron mumble something to Annabeth and Percy. There faces were serious, like some bad omen was coming. I watched as Chiron trotted up to me, and smiled. I could tell it was a fake smile, because his face was uneasy and his muscles tensed as he said, "Melpomene, daughter of mighty Zeus and his first wife, Mnemosyne. Fifth oldest of nine sisters. Hail, Evie Graven, first daughter of the Muse of Tragedy."

* * *

Blank.

That was what my mind was at that moment.

Just blank, empty oblivion.

The mask was gone, but I don't think I would ever think of myself the same way I did ever again.

My mother was like the goddess of tragedy. Joy.

Of course, Chiron explained that mother wasn't really a goddess. He said over the eons that passed, the Muses became more and more separate from the gods until they became a whole other group entirely. Like nymphs, mortals, cyclopes, centaurs, satyrs, dragons and harpies. I nodded all the while he explained in the Big House, but spaced out for most of it.

Mom was the Muse of Tragedy, why would she care if most of my life was filled with sadness and crap? She liked that stuff. She liked sad endings and people dying and people being thrown off buildings. Heck, she must have thought Shakespeare was a genius. If he wasn't a mortal, she would have worshipped him.

Dionysus grunted at me across the large living room, holding a Diet Coke in one hand and with the other twisting a grape vine. "I suppose I'll have to treat you with more fairness from now on." He glowered at the Coke hatefully; as if it was the Coke's fault it tasted so bad. "Your mother was quite a learner in theater."

"What do you know about my mother?" I asked.

He scowled me next and said, "Don't get smart with me, youngling. There is much you need to learn about your own mother and her tutor before you question my teachings."

I almost bumped my head on the coffee table with laughter as I rolled around on the floor. When I stopped, I realized I only had a few more seconds to live, but thankfully, Chiron intervened.

"Now, I don't think Evie knows everything you are god of, Dionysus. Why don't you tell her?"

I could tell Mr. D still wanted to rip me limb to limb, but he grumbled before saying, "I'm the god of wine, yes, but I am also the god of madness and theater. Illusions are my specialty as well."

I felt like I was back at square one.

Blank.

"Um," I mumbled after a few moments of stillness. "You taught Mom?"

He rolled his eyes and much to my discomfort too, because it made him look like a teen-wannabe. "Well, _duh_." Then smiled like he was pleased he had gotten the hang of 'teen-slang'.

"I guess I won't be sleeping in the Hermes cabin anymore, right?" Chiron seemed to notice our problem as well.

"Argus?" Chiron called down the hall and the tall tanned man with a million set of eyes appeared at the door. "Please set up the guest room," then he added, "For now."

"Am I…" I trailed off, wondering what to say. "Am I going to, you know, get my own cabin?"

"Soon enough," he said, but something was in his voice like there was just one little problem left to resolve.

I left the living room, but couldn't help hiding beside the door and eavesdrop on Mr. D's and Chiron's conversation. "Leaving… Olympus."

"Chiron, if you think they will change, you are dearly mistaken… the oath was made."

"Perhaps they will reconsider…"

"…too late. The gods will not approve…"

"But her fate cannot be sealed with death…"

"…the Fates have determined her destiny… you know it can't differ. Look at that Puppet of Kronos, his name? Ah, yes, Luke…"

"Exactly my point. If there was something that could be done to stop it before it started…"

"Do not tinker with the future… only end up worse."

I fled the conversation with my hands pressed into my ears.

I didn't really understand, but I knew from this point on, life wasn't going to be easy.

* * *

I dreamed I was in a large theater, like the amphitheatre at camp. It was like a coliseum, rows and rows of silver benches, made of stone, lined the circle-shaped theater in a funnel formation. They all led down to the main stage, a silver platform with thick, drawn red curtains. In the middle, was a tall, slender woman holding a sad mask in her hand. She appeared to be painting a set with a brush. Her strokes were light at first, but she began to press harder until the strokes were a deep dark purple-ish black. She had black hair done up in a bun with strands trickling down, hanging limply on her neck and shoulders. She was humming a sad classical song. I could almost hear people crying in the movie that played the soundtrack. She swayed lightly, and winced like every step hurt. She wore a traditional sleeve-less Greek robe, a colour that changed every time she moved. The strange thing was, it had no actual colour. The cloth could be a dark purple, then a red, a mid-night black, and a navy blue. Each time she moved, a new sadness fumbled my emotions. I heard moaning, I felt pain, I saw tears.

I shook myself out of my daze and managed to whisper, "M-mother?"

Melpomene dropped the paint brush and slowly turned. She had beautiful features, snow white skin, and a soft, but remorseful smile. Her eyes were a sad gentle brown but damp red as well as her cheeks, as though she had been crying.

"Evie? Is that you?" She gracefully stepped towards me, touched my face and patted it. "Ah yes, you have grown into a lovely young lady. You should come visit me for real some day. Your aunties will be delighted." She seemed to be used to these visits, because she wasn't at all surprised to see me. I, myself, felt like running into her and hanging onto her for dear life. I couldn't believe I had finally found my mother. She was here, in-front of me. She was really here.

"M-mother," I tried to get the word to roll out naturally, but I realized, no matter how long I would call her that, I would never get used to it. "Why… You didn't… Dad said…"

"Tragedies are essential," she said and picked up her fallen paint brush. "Just ask Nemesis, or even Aphrodite, though she loves romantic tragedies. Balance is needed if one has too much of the other. Tragedies build a stronger character, and a stronger character creates a better plot in a story."

"Why did you leave Dad like that?" Even though I knew the answer, I still wanted to know. I still wanted my mother to say it with her own lips.

"I think you know," she smiled coyly. "You might have an idea, since I am the Muse of Tragedy."

"But you got involved with… with… with Dad!" I didn't want it to come out as an insult, but of course, it did anyways. My father, Ben Graven, was probably one of the mellowest souls you would ever encounter. He had a jump in each step and a chuckle in each word, a wink in each look and warmth in every laugh. He was tall, but strong, like the kind of dads who would pick you up and swing you around even when you were too old for it. His brown hair waved its way down his neck and his hazel eyes were full of fun-planned arrangements.

"Yes," she said, as if it was obvious. "I got involved with… Dad." She twirled the brush in her hands and continued to paint. "Don't expect me to be a tragedy fanatic, always… ah, emo."

I held back a laugh. "Everyone thinks so." She waved her hand in irritation.

"Let them talk, everyone thinks the Muses are just a bunch of girls who sing, correct? Wrong. We are much more than that, why, if it weren't for us, arts might never have been created. Dance, vocal music, lyrics, history, astronomy, tragedy, comedy, heroic poetry, that is what we do. We created its detail, refinement, styles, techniques. But we do not keep at them all the time, much like the gods. Say for an example our father, your grandfather, Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Everyone knows he hurls lightning bolts when he's angry, controls the skies, but what is he doing when he isn't? His free time? Learning more about mortals, doing new things. I grow tired of tragedy at times, Evie. I am immortal, so boredom is an occupational hazard. I met your father… and, well, he changed my mind about my full-time sad state. Evie, he was the first mortal to change my mind."

I watched my mother paint some more. Somehow, I tried to imagine this woman in my home, decorating the house with flowers and baking pastries, kissing my father when he came home from work. But I couldn't.

"Did… he know? Did Dad know you were immortal?"

She stopped. "Y-yes…"

I held my breath. "After my fourth birthday, I remember you left. You left in the early morning, I heard you open the door. You told me you were sorry, and you wouldn't see me again. I started to cry and you… and you said…"

"Tragedies are good," she mumbled. "It makes you stronger. It teaches you things laughter can't."

"I was a child," I defended. "I was only four, and you left me crying on the steps of the stairwell. Tragedies hurt, they dramatize and give people bad memories."

"But they all help in the end. Good things happen in the end of the story."

"Like heroes?" I snarled. "I thought hero stories brought misery and misfortune to him or her. Their stories never end well."

"The Underworld grants them all Elysium, and sometimes, if reborn three time over, the Isles of the Blest." She insisted.

"I was only four!"

"And having a cursed memory to remember so far back." She grumbled. "All thanks to your grandmother, I suppose."

I felt like screaming at her, until I realized that is what she wanted. The aura around my mother wanted to cause me grief, despair. I guess that's why dad went crazy after a while.

I took a good breath of air and breathed out calmly.

"I won't be affected." I told her. I bowed, "I may not understand your ways, but I am grateful you claimed me."

I looked up after a silence passed between us. I heard her silent sobs behind her hands that were brought up over her face. "Tragedies," she choked. "Always those that are bestowed on us. Orpheus taught the Muses about how tragedy would always affect, not just mortals, but immortals as well. After Orpheus' death, I swore never to have children or they would end up like him…" she trailed off, and I stared wide-eyed.

I scrambled my wee-sized memory of a guy named Orpheus. I faintly remember a boy who had been raised by the Muses, the son of Calliope, the Muse of Heroic Poetry. He made such beautiful music that the fiercest warriors put their swords down, all beasts lay spellbound at his feet, trees would pull up their roots to come closer and the rocks would roll over to listen more carefully. He sung joyfully because he was in love with a girl named Euridice, whom loved him back, but on their wedding day, was bitten by a poisons snake and Hermes came to guide her soul to the Underworld. Orpheus, heartbroken, sang his way down to the Underworld, filled with grief, to beg the king and queen to return his beloved. The ghosts stopped moaning, the torturers stopped their whipping, Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog lay down at his feet to let him pass, and even the Furies cried blood-red tears. Persephone, swayed by his sad music, pleaded with her husband, Hades, to let Euridice go back with Orpheus to the world of the living. Hades agreed after persistence and persuasion, but on one condition. Orpheus, of no second chances, was to look at his bride before he arrived into the realm of daylight. Orpheus agreed, excited he would have his lover back, and sang through the tunnel, back to where the sun shone and the meadow smelled sweet. But soon, after hearing silence, Orpheus grew curious and doubtful. The lord Hades cheated and lied many times before, what if he was only trying to rid of Orpheus? Before he could change his mind, Orpheus peeked over his shoulder behind him. There stood the spirit of Euridice, her smile turning into fear as their eyes met. Hermes appeared out of the shadows, and steered the maiden back into the darkness without a good-bye. Orpheus was overpowered by sadness and despair, and never a happy note of joy sprung from his lips ever again. Realizing it was his mistake for his lack of faith, he blamed himself endlessly. He wandered from land to land, singing his tearful songs with his lyre as every creature, rock, tree and insect wept. A band of wild and crazy wood nymphs yelled so loudly they could not hear him, and as a result, were not touched by the magic of his songs. They wanted him to join their games and dance, but when he refused, they jumped him and tore his body into hundreds of pieces. The Muses looked and grieved for their beloved son and nephew, found his remains on the island of Lesbos, and gave him a proper funeral were he could rejoin his love as a soul.

Melpomene turned to look at me with a smile that cradled my nightmares. "Evie, I have chosen a difficult path for you, but do not give into despair. Tragedies are good, yes, but only for those who can rise above them." She slipped the sad mask into my hand. "Be safe, my daughter. Remember to overcome all obstacles, for tragedies are never far away."

I woke up with someone shaking me awake. Ezra Shadows, daughter of Nyx, the goddess of night, pulled me out of bed.

"Quick!" she shoved my camp clothes on my lap.

"What's going on?" I looked outside. It was practically dead-night out there.

"Something happened in the woods," she said as she pulled on a jacket. "Jamie heard a scream come from the direction of the North Forest. Someone or something dragged off a camper."

* * *

**H**e_y_ t_h_e**r**e,

I'm not into making fanfics for really awesome stories (PJatO is like, PRO compared to... others I will not mention), but, I couldn't help it. This idea sorta... came to me, and I wasn't really thinking about it until I let myself type away without knowing what I was doing. I edited this about three times over, but if you still catch some mistakes, let me know so I can eliminate then with a shot-gun, erm, I mean, fix them up with a pack of Band-Aids.

Is it just me, or does Apollo seem to be a little too much of a player and womanizer? That's the type of vibe I got from him in the books...

Also, if you are confused why Evie had to sleep in cabin Hermes, it was because she was still undetermined, and because most of Camp Half-Blood was being remodled, they put her there for convenience and hoped she would be claimed soon... but she waited a year and two months instead.

I like to start my stories in the middle (I started to like them... a month ago) and work my way forward, and have the character look back on their past. In case some of you are still confused by the story, let me know and I'll try to fill you in. Muses aren't refured to minor godesses anymore, not openly anyways. They are looked upon as a band or girls who sing and dance at parties on Olympus (oh, admit it, even Percy thought so in the third book), but they are much more. Each Muse was taught by Apollo to sing and dance, but each formed their own way to express it. Thalia, the Muse of Comedy, and Melpomene was taught by Mr. D in the ways of theatre. The Romans especailly liked the Greek's plays and music and copied them when they over-threw the Greeks.

Anyways, I'm probably boring everyone to death, I hope to put more humor in the next chapter. I also want to add romance and Percabeth, but maybe a little later.

Ciao,

Nessie :)

_Flames are welcome, reviews are liked, good constructive critisizm is adored and devouered._


End file.
